For Cajun, Best Dog, Best Friend
Cajun looks like the famous little dog, Benji, only a whole lot taller and standing at my thigh. He was born to us by his mother whom we also loved, in a litter of three pups, all of whom we gave away. But Cajun was returned to us in just two weeks, because he was too big, and too hairy, they said.
Years later, Cajun is the gentle giant, with an easy lope, or a lazy gallop, across the yard when we called. He didn't chase balls or sticks. His favorite things were stuffed toys that he could toss in the air himself, catch and shake, and then curl up with to sleep.
A diagnosis of kidney disease, almost two years ago, still didn't slow him down; it was the arthritis that finally did that.
And with the arthritis came pain, and with pain he changed. And suddenly, a month ago,the vet tells us the kidney disease is in it's advanced stages.
His fourteenth birthday is in three weeks.
In the last few days, he's stopped eating, drinking, emptying himself, and he can barely stand. I lay with him last night, and again this morning, just talking to him, about all the wonderful things we've done together and how important he is, yes IS, to me.
Tonight he spoke to me, lifted his head and groaned and then went back to rest. We took him to the vet, and there was no struggle, nor fight; just his calm acceptance, and maybe relief and gratitude, as he just blinked and lay still while I scratched his ears.
Be a good boy, we'll see each other again.
* * * * *
I am standing on the sea shore,
A ship sails in the morning breeze and starts for the ocean.
She is an object of beauty and I stand watching her
Till at last she fades on the horizon and someone at my side says:
"She is gone."
Gone! Where?
Gone from my sight - that is all.
She is just as large in the masts, hull and spars as she was when I saw her
And just as able to bear her load of living freight to its destination.
The diminished size and total loss of sight is in me,
not in her.
And just at the moment when someone at my side says,
"She is gone",
There are others who are watching her coming, and other voices take up a glad shout:
"There she comes"
- and that is dying. A horizon and just the limit of our sight.
Lift us up, Oh Lord, that we may see further.
Bishop Brent
1862 - 1926